What I Learned About Fear From Skydiving (or: Why I Jumped)

I’ve been trying to formulate my thoughts about this in the few days since I jumped.

It seems already like a dream, or something from another life, except my body still reacts with a rush of adrenaline whenever I think about it.

When I’m falling asleep, the image of the green and yellow farmland, thousands of feet below my feet, the edge of the steel floor, ?the roar of the engine, and the endless blue sky, will flood back into my consciousness; every cell in my being revs up like a goddam chainsaw, ready to free fall again.

It seems crazy to me that I did it, although - my instinct as a coach and storyteller kicking in - I can see a consistent pattern in my choices, a reason for why I’d leave my 8-month-old daughter at our vacation home with my wife and drive out to the middle of Quebec to jump out of a prop plane at 14,000 feet.

So here it is:

My work as a speaking coach is mainly about understanding and overcoming fear.

It happens to centre on the fear of public speaking and communicating, because as a former actor and a English teacher those are my areas of expertise, but the truth is: All fear is related.

Fear is a mechanism for self-preservation, and all humans and animals have it.

Whether we’re afraid of heights, snakes, asking someone out, or giving a speech, our nervous system is reacting to a perceived threat: this thing might affect our ability to survive or reproduce.

Fear is a mechanism for self-preservation, and all humans and animals have it.        

The heights and snakes one is obvious. We fall or get bit, we might die.

But the other fears, the ones that have to do with social events, are harder to understand:

Why is it that some of us completely fall apart when we have to speak in front of more than 3 people?

Why do you feel so terrified when approaching a good-looking stranger?

Why do we invent endless rationalizations to avoid having a tough conversation with someone?

I’ve come to find answers in places like anthropology, neuroscience, and behavioral & evolutionary psychology, which in combination tell us that:

-??????Humans are social mammals

-??????All mammals’ main drives are survival and reproduction

-??????Threats to your ability to do these things future require extraordinary physiological responses (i.e. adrenaline & raised heart rate to help you run away from a lion)

ALSO:

-??????Social mammals have hierarchies

-??????Hierarchy position affects your ability to survive and reproduce

-??????Threats to your social status (like looking stupid in front of your tribe) can literally mean life or death

If all of these things are true, then NO FUCKING WONDER speaking to people can be so intimidating!

Something deep inside of your nervous system is shouting at you: “DANGER! DANGER!”

Your body redirects energy to what it deems important (elevated adrenaline, muscle reactivity etc) AWAY from what DOESN’T seem important, like the ability to form a sentence without stammering or hold a microphone without shaking.

That’s where “stage fright” or social anxiety come from. And the only way I’ve found to deal with my truly brutal stage fright is to first understand where it comes from, and learn tools to overcome it, while putting myself in a position to use them as often as I can.

HENCE (we come full circle finally), why I went skydiving.

I’d always been terrified of heights. And I’ve learned that fear-facing (and self-doubt-proving-wrong-ing, if you will) is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

My wife knows this, and she bought the experience for me as a birthday present.

She was still pregnant with our daughter when she did this, and as the date approached, and our baby was starting to crawl, and babble, and smile her devastatingly beautiful and joyful smile at us, we both started feeling guilty:

What if something happens? How can we justify doing something so extreme when we have a kid to worry about?

We went over all these questions the night before the jump. My wife was regretting her choice of birthday gift, and asked me, half-seriously, not to do it.

Most of me wanted to agree.

I had the perfect out:

“Well, I have a child. This is the sort of thing you do when you’re young and foolish, not when you have real-life responsibilities. The truly mature thing is NOT to do this, and be safe.”

Except I know what those thoughts are.

They are the products of fear, anxiety, and depression.

Negative voices telling you NOT to take action, or to take action that you know is bad for you and rationalizing it with breathtaking skill and speed.

My depression tells me things like:

“Everyone drinks alcohol, live a little! Don’t be such a pussy. Do you wanna be that guy that doesn’t know how to have a good time? It’s not that bad for you anyway!”

My anxiety tells me things like:

“There’s nothing to be gained from having this difficult conversation. You can just be the bigger person and deal with your resentment on your own. That way, you’ll keep the peace and show how mature you are.”

And my fear tells me:

“Stay on the ground. Don’t take risks. Stay small, and safe, and ordinary, and that way no one can ever be mad at you, and you can never be hurt, and you can live the rest of your life on easy mode.”

So I chose to ignore my fear, for everything it represents, and jump.

As the plane took off, everyone’s whooping and cheering sounded like the death chants of enemy warriors, and it seemed certain, in my bones, that I was gonna die.

So I continued to practice what I know:

“Close your eyes. Breathe deeply into your belly. Scan your body, find tension, and allow those muscles and joints to relax. Tell yourself positive messages. Allow the feelings and thoughts to pass through you. And be present. Try to enjoy yourself.”

I noticed my legs were tight almost to the point of cramping; I let them relax. I was frowning; I allowed my face to soften, and a smile to take over my face.

The door opened, the sky and earth before us, and I moved, as much as I could, as though I was crouching on the floor in my living room.

Then we jumped, and all the fear exited my throat, in a wild scream of excitement.

I’ve never had a more fun, terrifying, and intense experience in my life.

And I learned more about fear; my own ability to manage it; and how it relates to my work, then I have in years of studying.

I want my daughter to be proud of me. Of course I don’t want to die and leaver her with my absence; but I believe in living life and taking risks, and pushing yourself, because you can be and do more than you ever thought possible. I want her to grow up believing that too.

That’s why I jumped.

P.S. Please share this article with anyone who you think would enjoy it, and follow the newsletter if you liked this one!